


my cherries & wine

by lupjeans



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Light Dirty Talk, M/M, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Trans Male Character, Trans Taako (The Adventure Zone), stolen century taagnus, this is actually relatively vanilla i'll admit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 08:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15577851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupjeans/pseuds/lupjeans
Summary: Now that dying isn’t a risk anymore, they’re both taking extra measures to feel alive again.title based on "Cherry" by Lana Del Rey, aka a taagnus anthem, aka exactly what i wrote this fic to lmao





	my cherries & wine

They should talk about this, Taako thinks. _Probably._ At least briefly. It wouldn’t need to be much -- they’ve proven time and time again that neither of them are capable of handling their words (or their liquor), and after about 15 years of this, over and over and over again, something has to give eventually. One of them _has_ to cave.

But see, here’s the thing: it’s not exactly convenient to talk about trivial things like _feelings_ when Magnus has two fingers in his mouth.

Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe Magnus doesn’t want to talk, either, and this is saving him the embarrassment. In any case, it’s not as if Taako has feelings, anyways. About anything. _Ever._ And most certainly not about Magnus Burnsides.

Well, maybe he has feelings about a few things, but around 90% of them can be resolved after a couple of solid orgasms. (More like 70%, if he’s being honest with himself. 60%, if he’s having a particularly bad day.) And who is he kidding? It’s not like he isn’t enjoying … whatever it is they’re doing. He could do this every cycle, indefinitely, constantly.

Now that dying isn’t a risk anymore, they’re both taking extra measures to feel alive again. Most of the time, that includes Taako’s shoulder blades pressing back into the wall, thighs around Magnus’ waist, and -- if he’s lucky -- a hand on his throat. Occasionally (i.e., often), there’s a moment of tenderness flung haphazardly into the middle of it all; lasting, wistful eye contact, or Taako’s little hand caressing his (boyfriend’s?) flushed cheek, or Magnus’ breath hot against his throat in a whisper of “you’re so beautiful.”

Or, perhaps the worst and most concerning of them all: _post-coital spooning._

This is all too much to consider in the moment, so Taako opts to compartmentalize it -- as per his usual method. They’ll talk when the time is right; which, he reminds himself again, is definitely not now. Instead, he gives himself into this, into whatever _this_ is, because fuck, Magnus knows him well enough to hit the right spot every single goddamn time. His lips part lazily around Magnus’ fingers, eyes rolling back into his lashes as a moan falls muffled between them. They’re desperate, now, both torn between letting go or making this last as long as possible. This is safe and normal in a timeline where nothing will ever be safe or normal ever again.

But, in fairness, Taako has already come three times tonight. If this lasts much longer, he thinks he might _literally die._ Which, considering all the ways he’s died previously, might actually be pretty fucking spectacular … but he imagines Magnus would feel guilty about it, which would be unfair.

“Fuck,” Magnus gasps, and when Taako looks up at him again -- tongue resting atop his bottom lip, eyelids heavy and cheeks cherried even in the dim light -- he thinks he can see the light leave his eyes. The hand previously occupied with his mouth quickly moves between them, and the whine that Taako exhales when Magnus works his clit again might be embarrassing if he was with someone else. Anyone else.

“Come on, baby.” It’s murmured into the now-infinitesimally small space between their lips, and it’s so stupidly fucking hot that Taako has to brace himself with both hands in Magnus’ hair, curling into white-knuckled fists as he tugs. He wonders, briefly, if maybe it’s too hard; but he’s rewarded with a groan and a stuttering of Magnus’ hips.

Maybe that’s what pushes him over the edge; that moment of weakness, of undeniable want. Magnus _wants him;_ and even if it’s only like this, desperate and fucked out of his mind, moved nearly to tears by how indescribably good this feels, it would be enough.

He doesn’t hear himself cry Magnus’ name loudly enough to echo down the hall of the ship, and he nearly misses the way that Magnus falls silent before letting out a long, soft moan from parted lips as he finally allows himself to finish. They stay there for too long -- Taako, hands lowering to rest on the back of Magnus’ neck, and Magnus, gripping too tightly at Taako’s hips -- both trembling, both terrified to let go.

It’s to Taako’s utmost delight that they don’t have to. Magnus simply pulls the smaller man against him, cradles him gently, and carries him to bed. It’s too soft for Taako to trust. He knows that, knows that everything in him is screaming to leave before this can hurt him … but then Magnus presses a soft kiss to his forehead and rolls onto his side, and he can feel himself letting his guard down, like a fucking idiot.

Maybe this is it: the moment. The right time to talk about it. “Magnus?” Taako whispers, sitting slowly, a hand placed on his shoulder, but is greeted with … nothing.

“Did you survive that, cowboy?” And it’s then that Magnus snores, slow and loud and even.

So it’s not the right time. Big whoop. Taako shifts, back pressed to Magnus’, and stares at the wall with pursed lips. It will come, right? It has to. They have all the time in the world.

But what if all the time in the world still isn’t enough?


End file.
